Chinese Paper Cuts
by Creature of Habit
Summary: OneShot. Just a simple peek into Wanda and her life postCosmo. Rated to be on the safe side. Reviews are muchly appreciated.


This is a one-shot peek into Wanda's life post-Cosmo. A lot of people have done their take on Wanda and what she endures at the hands of Cosmo and Tim. If any of you are reading this, I thank you so much – your writing has inspired me to do a piece of my own.

I admit I do not see Wanda as a perfect innocent. Of course, I also do not see her as deserving of what she gets. She gets a pound for every ounce she puts out. That is disgustingly unfair, in my opinion. I decided not to come at this from the angle of what Wanda is going through whilst in her marriage, but, rather, what happens when she gets fed up enough and walks out. So, please keep an open mind when reading this. I know it is a bit 'out there', and you might not see my rendition of her as accurate – but, I wanted to do something a little different.

I am thinking of doing one on Cosmo after this. I am not sure on that yet, but, if anyone reading this wants me to, I will certainly give it higher consideration.

Set to the tune of, _"China"_ by Tori Amos.

**Chinese Paper Cuts**

Sleep dusted carnation pink opened to meet the dim morning light. Porcelain fingers and toes curled around and into the wispy layers of lilac cotton that shrouded the petite figure. Slightly shifting position, she recoiled; bleary eyes protesting the ominous red glare of the digital alarm. Rubbing a gentle palm across the tender lids, she read the piquant numbers that screamed at her from the bed side table.

_9: 30_

She tended to sleep in later these days. She could not, for the life of her, recollect the last time she had seen a sunrise. In a sense, she missed that simple pleasure. Snuggling up in bed, she tangled herself deeper into the soft comforts of the plush blankets. Limbs askance, she gazed out in wonder as the sleep drenched earth stretched to drink in the subtle warmth of an opaque, autumn sky.

Four months felt more like four thousand years. It had been that long since she had last seen him – him being her former husband. Indeed, their tumultuous marriage had been tearing at the seams for the past couple centuries. It had reached the boiling point, however, when he had taken to chatting up a young waitress at a local coffee shop. Oh, some scene that had been. She had kept her composure until they had come home. It had been the hardest decision of her life; but, at last, she had felt confident and sure enough to say what she had yearned to for an age of years.

She wanted a divorce.  
She was leaving.  
For good.

Sighing under her breath, the lonesome, yet oddly content, faerie plucked her aching bones from the sultry cocoon. She made a mental note to go mattress shopping this afternoon, right after a quick trip to the grocers.

Freshly single and funds being short, she hadn't been able to spruce the place up much yet – or, for that matter, acquire decent furniture. The one bedroom apartment had come pre-furnished, with the exception of the mattress. She had picked that up on impulse. Her choice had been limited to what she could afford; a simple, uncomfortable twin. No box spring, no frame – just the mattress itself. Strangely, though, outside the immediate physical consequences of sleeping on a petulant lump of springs, she felt tranquil, to say the least.

She had her freedom.  
She had traded in feelings of degradation for peace of mind.  
That alone put her discomfort in a brighter light.

Stepping into the stream of hot water, she leisurely treated herself to a soothing, relaxed shower. She had no need to rush these days. If she spent fifteen minutes or an hour, there was no longer anyone around to get on her case about it. Her godson was not there to interrupt her down time. Her husband was not around to gripe and complain that she spent too much time primping – and, why did she bother, for she always looked the same. She hadn't yet made it past those caustic barbs he dealt her on an almost second-by-second basis.

But, this felt nice.  
No use in ruining her mood thinking about the past.  
The old Wanda didn't live here anymore.

Opening the tub of ginger salt scrub, she dug her fingers in; scooping out an adequate amount and smoothing it along her pale, satin skin. She had come to delight in these feminine affinities. In her past life, she never had the time to pamper herself. She had almost fainted at the cosmetic counter. So much to choose from! Cleansers, scrubs, lotions, oils – so _this _was what it felt like to be a girl. She inhaled a lungful of peppered atmosphere; the spicy, comforting aroma of ginger had her on cloud nine.

Once finished, she rinsed herself and turned off the tap. She took a moment to appreciate the silence; something she did more and more often of late. Slathering on a thin layer of ginger lotion, she slung her hair up in the gauzy aquamarine towel and perched herself in front of the mirror. It took her mere minutes to brush her teeth and tend to the other usual, random odds and ends of her post-bathing routine before heading to the closet - and, after, adding some special, last minute touches.

Soon enough, she stood gauging her reflection in the tall antique mirror.

Instead of the signature boring attire, she had chosen something more befitting of the fall season – and of the butterfly she had become. The sea fog green, silk-knit, self-draping, v-neck tie top was paired exquisitely with a black, mid-thigh length, belted leather mini skirt and knee-high, lace up black leather boots overtop fishnet stockings. Her long hair fell to her waist in soft, coconut-scented ringlets. The once plain Jane features bore faint tinges of colour; pale lids dusted in smoky charcoal hues; plush lips drenched glassy, frosted baby pink.

She scarcely recognized herself.  
She looked so ... pretty.  
Like some posh cover girl.

She could not recollect the last time she had dressed up just for the heck of it; only vaguely could her mind recall the last time she had good reason to doll herself up at all. Cosmo hadn't taken her out on the town for ... she just could not remember the last time he did. Cue bruising emotional pain. She had castigated herself for his neglect – told herself if she had been good enough, he would have paid her more of a mind; complimented her as he used to. Of course, she was a smart, perceptive girl, and she knew that wasn't honestly the cause.

Sadly, she had at last concluded that, as women, when we love someone, we make excuses for them; even if it means blaming ourselves in the process. Years and years of confusion and anguish, keen right along that he is at fault; yet, we ignore our better judgment. Our hearts betray us; we need to see him as that perfect knight in shining armor that swept us off our feet before time began. A girl denies the bleeding obvious; that he is a man undeserving and unworthy of our affections. Late at night, tears cascading like spring rain, we persist that he is more than this. Somehow, somewhere along the line, we just got it end for about.

Yes, that's it. He has good reason. He is bound to come to his senses. If we listened enough, if we took the time to understand, we would see that plain as day. See, it's so simple. It's our fault. Yes, it is. It's our fault his attention is less than negligible. It's our fault he ogles everything in a skirt. If we could just find the secret to looking more like her, he wouldn't need to do that. It makes perfect sense.

Of course, a girl can only lie to herself for so long.

Her logic, once obscured in ignorance, had stomached enough of his crap. He had insulted her intelligence, scorned her reputation, for the _last_ time. She should not need to glob on makeup until she looked like a circus spectacle to garner a passing glance. She should not need to flaunt around in garish clothes that made her look like a prostitute to intrigue him. She did not need to lose ten pounds. She was fit and healthy and she looked damn good. She was not going to develop an eating disorder just so he would stop making crude comments about her weight.

Faithfulness did not rest in false appearances or playing a role. He had no right making her feel she had to be someone to please him. She refused to wear the skin of another woman to catch his eye. This thing called love was not about being perfect. It was about appreciating the one you have – attributes and shortcomings included. It was about doing your best, and lending a helping hand. She was not ashamed to say she was not perfect. But, by God, she _had_ been the best damn wife she could be for him.

It was not her lack of attractiveness.  
It was his lack of conscience.  
Men did not orgle or cheat because the girl was not good enough.  
They did it because of arrogance and greed.  
In simple, some men were natural born bastards.

Okay, true enough, she had taunted him with Juandissimo. But, not because she had an interest in the the exotic Spanish faerie. Rather, it was because she wanted Cosmo to prove her wrong; prove to her that he cared enough to fight for her. He did so little of that lately, and it had her going in mad circles. She needed to feel important to him; needed him to appreciate her being around. It was one of the only things, if not _the _only thing, that roused that protective, possessive side of him.

Of course, his temperamental jealousy did not last long. It got to the point he seemed not to notice, let alone care, that his _wife_ was _flirting_ with her former boyfriend (and dedicated admirer). She had resorted to being openly flirtatious to inflame the fire she could see burning out. It did not work. He had lost interest. Losing her was no longer a bottomless pit of fear and scorching rage. It was tolerated; hell, it was accepted.

She had sobbed that night for almost three hours. Her husband, the man she needed more than the air she breathed, could not care less about her. And, if there is one thing that makes a girl feel worthless and taken for granted, then it is for her mate to disregard her threats to take up with another man - in particular, when she is saying it, or acting out on it, because she is spoiling for his attention. It made her feel like the fat, dowdy frump he proclaimed her to be. She had to be for him to be so nonchalant about the subject.

Wanda sighed as she dabbed her delicate pulse points with perfume. Slipping into her black, Brookside, pointelle sweater coat, she hoisted her purse onto her shoulder. Her hand felt about the satchel as she dredged up her car keys and headed for the door. If she left now, she'd have time for breakfast and a cup of coffee before taking her post at the book store. She had taken the job three months ago, and so far, she couldn't be happier.

Opening the door and locking it behind her, she headed for the elevator.

In the back of her mind, she knew a part of her would always love him; some cryptic, fragile part of her would always miss him. On the holidays. On their anniversary. On cold, lonely winter nights. The frail little girl in her would cry out for him to hold her and tell her how much he would always love her; just like he used to do a hundred times a day during those first nine thousand years of wedded bliss.

Punching in the button for the ground floor, another feeling began to take root. An increasingly familiar, steadfast sort of sensation that reminded her that she had done the right thing. Of course, acceptance would take time; healing, more time still. She had endured her fair share of hopeless desperation and aching relapses since their separation. In spite of her trials, though, and as helpless as she felt more often than not, one thing stood out in her mind; an echo that resounded overtop the abrasive emotional and mental static.

It might not feel like it right now, but, in the end ... she was going to be just fine.

**Fin.**

One of things that disturbs me about this cartoon is Cosmo constantly insulting Wanda about her weight. Oy, this is a serious issue. There are a lot of people that develop eating disorders in relationships because of that kind of crap. I think the writer's of the cartoon should consider this. Children are watching this, and it is sending a very dangerous, devastating message. Obesity is unhealthy, of course; but, having a little meat on your bones is a _good _thing. People come in all shapes and sizes, and beauty is not strictly reserved for those of the slender variety.

I don't know about anyone else, but Cosmo's persistence that Wanda is fat, when she obviously is far from it (a direct distortion of reality), highly disturbs me. At first it was funny; you could tell it was meant in jest and it wasn't cruel. In recent episodes, however, it has become routine and viscous. It isn't something to just annoy her or whatnot. It is being used as a weapon against her.

On the flipside, I am not keen on Wanda always getting on Cosmo about being a moron, either. Just because he is lighthearted and free-spirited does not make him a moron. I do not see Cosmo as an idiot. I see him as someone who has a bit of a short attention span and is not prone to taking life seriously. That doesn't mean he is blind to what is going on. And, if he really is dim, much like Wanda, it is not something he needs to be given a complex about. You do not harass people for something they can not help.

Sorry about the long rant. Just, this show is getting on my last nerve anymore – know what I mean?


End file.
